angry words fi ghting for release. She picked up the glass of
wine that one of the footmen poured for her. “Someone stole
my clothes.”
“Stole . . . Idiotic, girl. Why would anyone want to steal
your clothes? Th
ey are hardly the latest London fashions.”
“I have no idea,” Rosalind answered evenly. Her hand
tightened around her wine glass until her knuckles showed
white.
Lady Elizabeth guff awed loud enough to turn heads.
“Stolen your clothes,” she screeched. “Th
at’s the best story
I’ve heard in weeks! Hastings wouldn’t buy you new ones,
eh?” Chortling loudly, she slapped one hand on the wooden
tabletop. “Congratulations! He’s going to have to buy you
some now.”
“Elizabeth.” Lady Augusta’s displeasure cut her friend
off mid-chuckle. “Th
is is a family matter. I do not wish the
whole village to hear.”
“Soup, Lady Rosalind?”
Rosalind nodded at the footman. He deftly served the
turtle soup, allowing her a few moments of peace. Th
is was
going to be another diffi
cult dinner.
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Th
e moment the footman fi nished and moved on, Lady
Augusta started again. “I found that witch’s cat wandering
outside my chamber. Your red-haired maid chased it about for
fi fteen minutes, disturbing my rest. I want the beast gone.”
Rosalind’s chin jerked up. “Hastings said I might keep
it.” Lady Augusta’s frown didn’t diminish, and she thought
she’d better try appeasement plus an apology. “I’m sorry the
kitten disturbed you. I will make sure he stays in my chamber
in future.”
“See you do, or I’ll order one of my footmen to drown
the fi lthy beast.”
Rosalind sighed, knowing it was best to hold her tongue.
She applied her attention to the delicate green soup.
Th
e minute the women left the gentlemen to their port
and pipe smoking, Rosalind escaped to the garden. Lady Au-
gusta saw her heading for the door, but Rosalind ignored her
summons by pretending not to notice.
Outside in the garden, it was blissfully peaceful. Exactly
what she needed in order to think about all that had hap-
pened this day. Th
e graveled path crunched under her shoes
while a light breeze whistled through the garden, rustling
leaves in a pleasant musical sound. She passed the formal rose
beds and kept walking until she reached a small pagoda that
overlooked the sea. At this time of night, all she could see was
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an inky blackness, but the swish of the waves was soothing.
Rosalind sank onto a padded seat and let out a soft sigh.
“Why did I know I would fi nd you out here on your own?”
Rosalind barely fl inched at Hastings’ question. On an
inner level, she had known they would meet out here. It was
becoming a ritual of sorts, meeting in the garden after dinner.
“I was thinking about the day’s events,” she murmured,
very aware of his scent, his closeness. “What did Matthew
say?” In the soft light of the torches, Hastings’ face expressed
surprise. “I know you talked to him.”
Hastings hesitated before sitting beside her. His thigh
touched hers for an instant before he inched away. “Someone
hit him on the head. He says he saw the man’s face but didn’t
recognize him.”
Rosalind nodded. Th
at’s exactly what she’d read when
she’d touched his arm. He hadn’t lied. “Do you believe him?”
“Th
e man has a lump the size of a goose egg on the back
of his head. It’s obvious that he hit his head somehow. But
he smelled like he’d bathed in whisky. He denies taking a
drink. Why are you wearing that god-awful gown?” he asked
changing the subject with a suddenness that startled her.
“Because someone stole every gown from my chamber
while I slept.” Would he believe her?
“I heard Lady Elizabeth’s theory. Is she right?”
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“No, she is not,” Rosalind snapped, incensed he would
think such a thing.
“Hmmm.”
Irritated, Rosalind leapt to her feet. “I wouldn’t do some-
thing like that.” Miranda, her cousin would, but the idea of
Hastings thinking her capable of such childish schemes upset
her. “Th
ere is something odd going on, Hastings. Today I was
shot at, Mary was tied up, Matthew was hit on the head, and
someone tried to kill you. And when I woke up this evening,
I found that someone had removed every single gown from
my dressing room.”
Hastings shrugged. “I am sure there’s a reasonable answer
for everything that has occurred. You interrupted men hunt-
ing. And I’m not convinced Matthew is telling the truth.”
He didn’t believe the words he spoke for one minute.
Rosalind was convinced of it. If she were to read him, she was
sure her theory would hold up. She glanced at Hastings and
found him staring out to sea. Using her sight was an obvious
solution, but did she really want to know what he was think-
ing? Did she want a reminder of how deeply he loved the
woman he held inside his heart?
Rosalind nibbled on her bottom lip. Who was the woman?
Where was she now? Something awful must have happened
to her or else Hastings would never have married her. But
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what? Rosalind crept closer to Hastings as she worked up
her nerve. She took a deep breath and slowly reached for his
forearm and the sliver of tanned skin below his jacket cuff .
Without warning, Hastings whirled to face her. Her hand
hovered mid-air before dropping to her side. Th
ey stared at
each other for a long time. Rosalind swallowed, a shudder of
excitement streaking through her body. Th
is close, she saw
his scar in merciless detail. Yet, she realized she didn’t notice
the puckered, ruined fl esh anymore. She saw Hastings.
Th
e man.
His dark eyes bored into hers, trapping her helplessly in
his gaze. Rosalind realized she wanted this man, her husband,
to love her in the way that he loved the dark-haired mystery
woman. And if reading him with her sight helped her to learn
him, then she would touch him, she would open herself up to
possible hurt because there was no other alternative.
Th
is was the way forward to the future she envisioned
for herself.
“What are you staring at?” He sounded defensive, and
she automatically reached out in the hope of soothing him,
her fi ngers colliding with the back of his hand.
Th
e vision was more powerful with each touch. Crisp
and clear, it was like being there. Th
/> is time, she saw Hast-
ings and the woman riding horses. Th
ey wore dusty clothes
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
and maintained a slow pace so it was obviously a journey
of some type. Th
ree men rode with them, none of them
familiar to Rosalind.
Suddenly the vision changed. Hastings stood alone in
the bow of a boat. Ahead of him, a chalky cliff jutted from
the sea. Th
e coast of England, Rosalind decided. Questions
burned at her lips. She glanced at his face. Th
e raw and
primitive grief on Hastings’ face made her ache to comfort.
Rosalind wanted to throw her arms around him and hug him
tight. She wanted to tell him all would be well. Feeling like a
voyeur, she jerked her hand from his warm skin.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, striving for a natural
voice.
Th
e glazed look of despair disappeared from his face, re-
placed by gritty determination. “What are you talking about?”
“Your thoughts didn’t look pleasant.”
His fi rm mouth puckered with annoyance. “It was
nothing.”
“Th
ere is something strange happening at Castle St.
Clare,” Rosalind stated, determined to persuade him that
the unusual occurrences were not the product of over-active
imagination. “What about your accident today? Have you
discovered more?”
Th
e fl icker of impatience that slid across his face made
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her teeth grit together. Th
ose men had wanted her dead. She
would make him believe — if it was the last thing she did.
“It’s time we returned inside to our guests.”
Rosalind planted her hands on her hips, desperate for
him to understand. “I’m watched all the time.”
“Servants,” he drawled with distinct mockery. “Th
e
castle is full of them.”
“Not in my room.” To her annoyance, her hands shook.
Rosalind promptly hid them behind her back. “I feel as
though I’m being watched every time I’m alone in my room.
And before we were married, I was . . .” Rosalind stopped
mid-sentence. It wasn’t diffi
cult to see that Hastings thought
she was imagining things or worse, trying to attract his at-
tention by making up tales. Rosalind intercepted his sardonic
look and felt her face burn.
“Come,” he said, clearly impatient. “Our guests await.”
In a silent order to obey, he off ered his arm to escort her back
inside the castle.
Both frustrated and irritated, Rosalind wanted to stomp
her foot and shout he was being foolish, that he should listen
to her. But instead, she meekly accepted his escort. She’d
have to think of another way and soon. Every instinct inside
screamed that the escalating pranks would catch a victim
before long.
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
Lucien led her into the Chinese room. “Would you like
coff ee or chocolate?”
“Th
ank you,” Rosalind said fi nally. Her heart beat a little
faster as their gazes met and held. Under his lazy appraisal,
the defi ciencies in her dress leapt out to taunt her.
“Ah, Hastings. Th
ere you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
Lady Helena batted her eyelids at him. “Lady Rosalind. How
. . . ah . . . interesting you look. Would you like me to give
you my seamstress’ card? Of course, she’s very expensive but
worth every penny, I think.” She smoothed white gloves over
her blue and white, form-fi tting gown and batted her eyelids
yet again.
Rosalind’s backbone straightened and a rude word
popped into her head. She wished Lady Helena would cease
her prattle and stop rubbing her breasts against Hastings’
arm. Censuring words trembled at the tip of her tongue,
ready to spill forth, but Hastings took a half-step away from
Lady Helena. Th
e move brought him closer to Rosalind.
“Would you like some new gowns, Rosalind?” Lucien’s
voice sounded low and husky and sent a shower of tingles
shooting through her body.
Anticipation surged through Rosalind. Was it her imagi-
nation or was Lucien warming toward her? “I . . .”
“I could come with you,” Lady Helena butted in. “To help
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SHELLEY MUNRO
you select the perfect gowns to show off your . . . ah . . . color-
ing.” Lady Helena turned to simper at Hastings and blinked
rapidly while her mouth curved into an artful smile.
It didn’t take much imagination for Rosalind to visualize
the type of gowns she’d end up with.
Lady Elizabeth thumped to a stop beside them and
leaned heavily on her walking cane. “Gel, do you have some-
thing wrong with your eyes?” she demanded, squinting at
Lady Helena.
“No, there’s nothing wrong with my eyes,” Lady Helena
said, puzzled.
“Th
en why do you keep blinkin’ em as if you had bugs
inside?” Lady Elizabeth challenged.
As usual, Lady Elizabeth hollered. Rosalind caught her
bottom lip between her teeth, trying in vain not to laugh. Two
young men standing across the room were not so charitable.
Th
e loud, raucous laughter was contagious, and Rosalind’s
gaze dropped to concentrate on an intricate Oriental urn.
“Really,” Lady Helena snapped.
“And what do you think of your wife’s gown, Hastings?
Shocking, ain’t it?”
Lady Helena simpered. “Th
e color is atrocious.”
“Humph! Wasn’t talking to you.” Lady Elizabeth peered
up at Hastings, waiting for his answer.
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
Rosalind froze, her knees knocking together beneath the
skirts of the puce dress as everyone in the Chinese parlor col-
lectively waited for his reply.
Lucien slipped his arm around her waist and his mouth
curled into an uncharacteristic smile. A sensuous smile that
made Rosalind’s breath catch. “My wife has a pure heart.”
Th
e walking stick thumped on the fl oor. Lady Elizabeth’s
head bobbed under the powered wig. “Prettily said, Hastings.”
Several of the dinner guests readied to depart. Rosalind
suppressed a yawn.
“Go up to your chamber,” Lucien murmured. He removed
his arm from around her waist, leaving Rosalind bereft.
“Goodnight.” Rosalind turned and slowly walked to
the door. She couldn’t prevent a glance over her shoulder
at her husband, but he was already deep in discussion with
Lady Helena.
Rosalind snorted. Simpering ninny! Th
e way she fl uttered
her eyelashes at Hastings and acted the superior about gowns
and the latest fashion irritated Rosalind in the extreme. Of
course, Lady Helena thought she
knew everything. Rosalind
wasn’t stupid. She knew Lady Helena wanted her husband.
Humph! Not if she had anything to do with the matter!
Th
en there was Hastings. Rosalind glared at a graceful
statue depicting Diana, the huntress, as she stomped past on
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the way to her chamber.
Stubborn man. He’d rejected her warnings to take care
even though a child could read the situation with ease.
Rosalind entered her chamber and slammed the door
shut. Her sight wasn’t necessary to divine the evil present at
Castle St. Clare. It was there for any idiot to see, and if Hast-
ings refused to listen, she’d investigate on her own.
Rosalind turned a slow circle, studying each wall in
the fl ickering candlelight, as if she had never seen it before.
Almost immediately, she felt as if an unseen person watched
over her. A chill crept along her spine. Her heart beat a little
faster. Th
e gaze felt malevolent. Rosalind bit back her fear
and forced herself to study each of the walls. Noir, her kitten,
crawled out of his basket in the corner. He yawned widely
and ambled over to wind around her legs.
Where was Mary? Th
e candles were freshly lit so she
couldn’t have been gone for long. Th
en, Rosalind remem-
bered. Mary had gone to meet with one of the male servants.
Rosalind coughed to clear the knot of apprehension in her
throat. At this very moment, she craved the sound of another
voice and a friendly face to talk to. She crouched to scratch
Noir behind the ears. Briefl y, she considered summoning a
maid on some pretext, then rejected the idea. Th
is was some-
thing she must do on her own. She gave the kitten a fi nal pat
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THE SECOND SEDUCTION
and stood.
Forcing her jumpy nerves away, Rosalind marched to
the closest wall to search for anything out of the ordinary.
Th
ere must be a clue somewhere. She rapped her knuckles on
the wall. A dull thud sounded. Rosalind knocked harder and
scraped a hunk of skin from her knuckles.
“Ouch.” She sucked at the trickle of blood.
On hearing her soft sound of distress, the kitten padded
over to Rosalind and meowed for her to pick him up. Laughing
softly, she did as he demanded and was rewarded with a noisy
purr. Th
e small, half-drowned kitten she’d picked up off the
beach was no longer recognizable. With his healthy appetite,
Noir was growing at a rapid pace and getting into mischief.
The Second Seduction Page 11